The Long Way Home
by Zeden
Summary: "There's no glory in war. It's just something they tell soldiers so they'll risk their lives."- Brunwulf Free-Winter The civil war in Skyrim is over and the Stormcloaks stand victorious. In this seeming moment of peace, Ralof tries to heal his moral wounds. He killed for his country. But as the Dragonborn he must fight for the world and trade his blind ideology for reason.
1. Chapter 1: In My Time of Need

Hello all!

I hope everyone has been having a great summer. :D

Yes, I do intend to finish my Dragon Age stories. So what's this? This was something I wrote during the summer when time allowed. It was easy to pick up and put down since I kept the chapters fairly short, unlike Lyium Ghost which requires all four of my brain cells to function at once ;) So no, it is not highly polished or edited to death. It was for relaxation purposes to get away from the fact that a company is trying to build a pipeline through my state and near my house. (Yes you wanted to know that ;)

I have played the Elder Scrolls series since Daggerfall (damn I am old) but I have never had the urge to write within that universe. I don't profess to be a lore junkie when it comes to Elder Scrolls. I know enough to be dangerous.

I decided to make Ralof the Dragonborn because of the interesting role he plays in the game. I wanted to have him grapple with his decisions and to see that the world is full of grey areas. In my opinion, he sees everything as right and wrong. But no... let's confuse the poor Nord. That is much more fun!

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**Chapter 1: The Long Way Home**

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"That's a daft question, Julian," Ada answered. She threw her bag into the wagon and climbed up to take a seat next to the driver. Five years it had taken her to find the courage to leave. She was not going to allow her uncle to second guess her decision.

Julian Valerius studied the girl's lone bag. It was a patchwork of material; worn cloth that had been cut from old dresses and burlap bags. The stitching zigged and zagged like a drunken man on his way home from the pub. It was the work of someone who had been self taught.

"Did you make that bag?" Julian asked.

Ada rolled her eyes. The inept construction of her travel bag seemed a stupid thing to remark upon in light of the fact she was about to leave her family forever.

"It holds my clothes in doesn't it?" Ada answered sharply and to the point. This trip was not a social visit or an excuse for a lovely ride in the country and she hated that her uncle seemed relaxed about the whole affair.

"For now, but I will not be surprised if I find it torn open tomorrow with your clothes spilled out from it like a slain pig's guts," Julian said.

Julian glanced at the girl quickly and found that he was oddly amused at the sour expression on her face. _When did she get so feisty?_

"Believe it or not, uncle, I could not care less about my defunct bag and its innards," Ada replied. "Can we get going before they come out here and find us?"

It was a good point. The farmhouse was still within shouting distance. They could be overheard, or worse, found, and that was a chance Julian did not want to take.

_It has been a long time coming. Ada is what... twenty now? _Julian wondered._ Divines, I suppose no one could expect her to remain cloistered forever. It's not like my brother gave her a good reason to want to stay. _

"Fine, girl, let's be off then," Julian said and with a quick flick of the reigns his two shire horses began to trudge along the path.

Julian thought back to the day that he had found Ada. It was eighteen years ago along the merchant's route from Skyrim. A lump of furs near the road had caught his eye. It looked as if a small bear cub had wandered away from its mother, but on closer inspection he realized it was a child. Nords have a habit of wrapping everything in furs even their delicates, he had thought while staring down at the crying girl. When he held the child Julian realized he would have to make a choice. To the north lay Skyrim, her home, and to the south lay Cyrodiil, his home. He was, to his amusement, standing equidistant from both places. In the end, he chose to take the baby to his brother, Perseus. He was already a family man and Julian believed his brother would be able to provide a stable home. Stable or not, it proved to be a mistake.

Ada noticed Julian's reflective stare and deduced that he was feeling guilty or, perhaps he considered what he was doing a treacherous act. "They will not miss me if that is what weighs on your mind, uncle" she said.

The horses came to an abrupt halt. They were far enough away now that there was little chance they would be discovered.

"How they treated you was wrong, Ada. I told my brother, I did, but that hagraven of a wife of his paid my brother no mind. And Perseus... there's no excuse. Our mother was gentle and patient. She never... well you know."

Ada knew well what Julian meant. Her surrogate mother was an angry woman who would hit and punch during a tirade without thought to the pain that was being inflicted. Unlike the slender children in the house, Ada's body was thick, muscular, the body of a Nord and a constant reminder that she was not one of them. _Now my uncle has the balls to admit they treated me like dirt. Does he somehow think I am going to consider him a friend? This proves, if anything, that he is the coward I always believed him to be._

"Trust me, I know that I do not belong here," Ada said. She watched as the wheels of the wagon began to turn once more. The truth: she blamed Julian. She blamed him for the back breaking labor she had endured, for the humiliation, the pain, the scars and for placing her with a family that treated her no better than a pack mule.

He sighed. "The rest of the family doesn't act like your parents... It's her, Livia. That woman is bitter and spiteful. I thought Perseus would see that in time, but he has become the same." Julian shook his head. "And that farm, I swear the place is cursed."

Ada turned to him then, an eyebrow raised. "Then why do I not act as they do?"

The question took Julian's breath away. _Excuses, _he thought_. I still make excuses for them and she knows it. I deserve her hatred. I deserve every bit of it. _"I am... sorry Ada," Julian whispered. "You deserved better."

The warmth of her hand brought tears to the old man's eyes. He looked away, into the distance towards the fading sea, anywhere but at the good natured woman sitting at his side.

This trip would be his last as a merchant. Julian had decided to retire and live out his days in Cyrodiil. He had envisioned spending that time with Ada and the rest of his family. Now that he thought about it, the daydream had been selfish. In all the years of Ada's life he had done nothing substantial to stop the misery. He had walked past the desperate little girl on his visits offering only a sweet and a smile instead of taking a stand against his brother. He could have given Ada a decent home or found another, but instead he fought the guilt with excuses. _No_... _She needs to go home, to Skyrim and see the glory of her homeland and hopefully in time gain the confidence her people so readily possess. Then maybe she can start to live._


	2. Chapter 2: Drunk and Disorderly

**Chapter 2: Drunk and Disorderly**

"Ralof of Riverwood was a mountain of a man, as tall as a horse and as strong as an ox. He was the truest of Nords, a veteran of the civil war and..."

Ralof's laugh echoed throughout the inn. "What is this nonsense Sven is writing about me?"

"A mountain of a man?" Hod laughed. The rumble form his chest sent the mead from his mug tumbling out onto the table. "Think he's sweet on you, Ralof?"

"I always knew that boy was peculiar just like his father," Embry chimed in. "All that singing and strumming and poetry. It'll make a man soft."

"I am sorry I read it now," Ralof said. He laid the parchment back down on the table and took a seat next to Hod. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. Sven had spent the evening in a corner alone scribbling instead of working as a skald. As soon as he departed to answer nature's call, Ralof had decided to be nosey and read it.

"I don't think anyone has ever written anything about me before," Ralof mused. "Maybe I should be flattered."

Hod slapped him on the back. "Or maybe now would be a good time to invest in some plate armor for your lower half."

The laughter ceased between the men as soon as they heard the door to the inn open. They bowed their heads and focused on their mead. Sven immediately became suspicious.

Hod smirked at Ralof; a sign that he was going to be devious. "Did you see that dress Camilla was wearing today?" he asked.

Ralof rubbed his eyes. He hated it when Hod talked about other women. "You know I don't like it when you talk like this. In case you have forgotten, your wife is my sister you dirty old man."

"Aye, and there is no finer woman, but I can still look," Hod said and he smiled. "You'll understand when you're married... if you ever marry."

"Don't you start that too," Ralof said. "Gerdur has been at me about settling down since I came home. Like I told her, it's not something I want to think about right now."

Hod chuckled and his bright red face lit up. "You know, I just realized we could have ended the war a long time ago..."

"How's that?" Ralof asked. He was not sure he wanted to know the answer. "And I don't want to hear any nonsense about you being in charge."

"Ulfric should have sent Gerdur to Tullius. She would have nagged him to death."

Ralof had to admit that without Hod his life in Riverwood would be dull. He did not always agree with him and some things he said Ralof found distasteful, but for the most part Hod was harmless. For all his womanizing bravado, Hod was a good man who stayed true to his wife and loved his son. Everything else that came out of his mouth was rubbish.

Sven pushed his parchment aside and stood to face Hod. "What was that about Camilla?' he asked. "Did I hear her name?"

"I was talking about her dress. It made her trunks look bigger. What of it?" Hod asked.

"Hod, I swear if you keep talking about other women I'm going to have to hit you," Ralof said. "It'd be for my sister just so you understand it's nothing personal."

Sven looked down at Hod with hands on hips. If he was going for intimidating, Ralof believed he missed the mark. He had seen his sister cock the same pose when scolding her son. "Drunk again I see. Don't you two have anything better to do?"

"At least I don't spend my time writing about other men," Hod said. He and Ralof sniggered into their mugs. "Why can't you write about Camilla's breasts instead of the 'mountain of a man' sitting next to me? You gone off girls?"

"That was supposed to be for my eyes only." Sven grabbed the parchment from the table and tucked it into his shirt. "Can't you respect a man's privacy?"

Ralof eyed Orgnar the innkeeper, Embry the local drunk and Hod his brother-in-law. "Maybe you should try writing it somewhere less public? And why for the love of Mara did you write about me?"

"It was a character study. A very boring study, I might add," Sven responded. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at Ralof. "I think I may write a book."

"I thought you were a bard, son?" Hod said like a shriveled old grandfather. "As I recall, Hilde spent quite a bit of coin to send you to that college in Solitude. Surely she has some say in this."

"My life is my own," Sven said. "Besides, as a bard I already write poetry."

Embry pointed a wobbling finger at Sven. "You need to get a real job, do some real work and then... and then..."

"And then?" Sven asked. It humored him that the town drunk had the audacity to offer him advice on how to improve his life.

"What was I saying?" Embry asked.

Hod pushed the drunk's mead back into his hand. "Just drink."

"I met a writer during the war..." Ralof started to say. He took a swig of his mead and ignored the 'not another war story' look on the faces of his companions. "He took his quill and inkwell everywhere with him, even in to battle."

The room grew quiet, expectant even, as they waited for Ralof to finish the story. But as the seconds lingered Sven became impatient.

"What happened next?" Sven asked. "Did he finish his book?"

Ralof knocked back his mead and rose from the wooden bench. "I don't know if he ever finished a book. An arrow pierced the back of his head while he was writing one night. Went clean through his helmet. It was an impressive shot for an Imperial."

"That's it?" Sven sighed. "What was the point in telling us that uninteresting nugget of drivel?"

"You are going to need a steady supply of quills," Ralof said and added a cheeky smile. "Might want to buy a goose or two."

For as long as he could remember, Ralof had enjoyed aggravating Sven. Riverwood was a small village full of simple people. Sven, he felt, overcomplicated life, and just like his father who had also been a skald, he put on airs and flounced about the town proclaiming to be a prodigy. _"My time at the Bards College was brief. A prodigy has little need for formal education." _Ralof often heard Sven say to travelers. Braggart-laden remarks, he felt, should be reserved for those who earn the right to make them through brave deeds. Sven, as far as he knew, had never raised a blade to an enemy nor helped save a life. He was too concerned for his own petty problems which revolved mostly around Camilla Valerius.

"Thanks for the advice," Sven replied in a sarcastic tone. "Maybe I can pay you to pluck them for me."

Ralof ignored the comment. He was afraid the mead in his belly might influence the words forming in his mouth. With a wave of his hand and a good night he retired to his room in the inn.

Ralof closed the door and took a seat on the edge of his bed. Nighttime was a dreaded time for it was then, while alone and without distraction, he remembered the faces of the men he had killed during the war. Some had been so young they could barely lift a sword and others were past their prime. It had felt dishonorable to kill them, but he had always told himself that it was kill or be killed. That excuse helped him cope for the first two months after the war was over. Then the mead and ale filled the guilty hole when he could no longer find comfort in excuses. Soon Gerdur, his sister, began to lecture him about his excessive drinking habit and it was more than he could endure. One night, when she said he would end up like Embry the town drunk, Ralof moved to the inn. Brother and sister had yet to speak again.

_A bed, wardrobe, nightstand and chest. This is the sum of my life? Maybe I should go to Windhelm and ask to help train the men, _Ralof thought. _No, I don't want that life. I don't want this one either but at least I can choose who to kill and when._

He removed the remainder of his clothing and settled into his bed. _So what am I going to do? Delphine won't be able to pay Orgnar and me for much longer. I wouldn't feel right making her choose between us and I will be damned if I go ask Gerdur or Hod for work. So where does that leave me? Hmmm, they are rebuilding Helgen. I could go there see if there is work. _

Ralof closed his eyes and imagined Helgen before the dragon attack and before the war, when people were still friends. _What I would not give for some of Vilod's juniper berry mead or to see... her... again. _He opened his eyes and stared up at the smoke stained ceiling. _I think it is time for me to move on._


End file.
